


Knitted

by Ikisbean0



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Artist Jean Kirstein, Coming Out, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, JeanMarco Week 2016, M/M, Pride Parade, Sweaters/pattern, a not so happy coming out for marco, a tiny wee little bit of violence, but it has a happy ending, ie a punch, marco has some serious internatlised anxiety, some serious cool broships, trans!Connie, ymir and krista being the Mom Friends, yumikuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 03:52:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8386162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ikisbean0/pseuds/Ikisbean0
Summary: A short story about a certain scared boy discovering how the world can be a cruel place, except when a certain cheeky face painter grins like that.For Day 6 of Jeanmarco Week 2016!





	

The first time was because Krista had asked me. We were both nervous, but after confessing to each other, we were excited and thrilled as well.

It was like a whole new experience, and it definitely brought us closer.

The subject came up when we were both walking home after school. There, on a side post, was a colourful bold poster advertising a pride march within the next month.

I had glanced at it, and felt the kneejerk panic. I had known I was homosexual since preschool, since crushing on my day-carer and drawing pictures of my dream wedding with another boy happened a lot. Yet I had also learnt too soon that it appeared to be not right, to be a boy who likes other boys. You notice these things growing up, how in the stories that teachers read to you it was always a man rescuing and falling in love with a beautiful woman. The T.V shows you watch when you are a kid show the same thing. All my friends' parents were girls married to boys. I thought I must have been a freak.

So I caught on quickly that I should probably keep my weirdness a secret. I was scared to ask my parents for help. I had no-one to tell. They had other plans for me, anyway.

You see, my family and Krista's had wanted us two to get together. Its old fashioned, but if I were to marry into her family, it would strengthen some business ties, I am not sure of the specifics. I was not - am not - interested. Her father and my father are great friends in a business partnership, and the Reiss family would often visit our home, and so I basically grew up alongside with Krista. She was the closest person I had.

Because Krista had as much interest in boys as I did girls, we were never more than friends.

We knew, we never said it though.

It wasn't until we saw that bright poster during our early high school days that we were forced to confront the topic.

Krista had stopped by the post, pointed at the rainbow paper, and looked at me.

"I want to go to this."

"…Are you gay too?"

"Yes."

I know, it wasn't the most elegant way to come out. But I was so relieved I cried.

One month later, and Krista and I attended our first Pride March. We were scared and nervous, but too soon we were laughing and swept off in the sea of the people we belonged with. We held hands with strangers dressed in bright colours as we paraded down the road, and it was the first time in my life that I felt like I wasn't such a freak. I was normal. I could feel normal.

It was a feeling that couldn't last, though. I knew that. Krista did too.

Despite going back home with an unfamiliar high stimulating my body, I didn't tell my parents where I went. I wasn't ready for that yet.

* * *

The second time was two years later. Krista had a girlfriend and got kicked out of home as a result. She was brave and true to herself and her girlfriend was brave despite all the troubles they went through and I was envious.

Ymir had a nice family. They welcomed Krista with open, warm arms.

I still couldn't tell anyone except for her. I was confused on which way my parents would react.

* * *

A girl had moved to our school when I was sixteen. She was shortest person I had ever met, stout, full of cheeky words, and weird. Ymir, Krista and I befriended her quickly. She seemed to fit in rather well with us other weirdo's.

Her name was Kate and she lacked so much grace and girliness that she made Ymir look like a princess (I am scared of Ymir, she is not afraid to pull you into a headlock).

Kate had come over to my place for a study session when I got a Facebook notification. I had been invited to an event by Krista. Another Pride March.

The same fear crept in my heart as Kate snatched my phone while demanding what could possibly distract a nerd like me from studying.

When she saw the event, I began stuttering out an explanation. But before I could get a word out, Kate held up her small, tanned hand. Looking me in the eye, her yellow-green eyes reminded me that of a cat. Analysing.

"I have always wanted to go to something like that."

"O-oh?"

"I like girls, Marco."

"Ah."

"…B-but I am not gay, not really."

"…Um?"

She took a deep breath and looked away.

"Marco I think I am a boy. I should've been born a boy."

I hadn't said anything, because it honestly didn't come as a surprise the more I had thought about it. Whenever I had interacted with him, it always was different to how I talk to girls. He acted different, and would always steal my clothes that I outgrew. I had thought it was just a quirk of his, but now…

"Marco…?"

"Well, I mean it makes so much sense," I had said that more to myself, but the smile on his face was priceless.

We talked more about it, I asked about how he felt about his name, he told me he likes the name Connie, and it suited him so much more.

The night before the Pride March, he shaved all his wild, messy hair off. Krista helped him, and Connie claimed that he was going to tell his parents that night after the march.

I told him to text me after he does so to let me know how it goes. I admitted I was nervous for him, but he smiled cheekily and shrugged. It was obvious he was nervous too, but bravado was something he was good at.

The text I got from him at midnight told me it went super-duper well, and his parents were proud to have a son.

I had cried with relief once again, I was so happy for Connie, but for the second time in my life, I was jealous.

I still hadn't told my parents. I still didn't have any bravado.

* * *

It became a tradition for us to go every year. Connie had started taking T, and kept the crew cut look. Ymir and Krista were living together and dropped out of school for their full time jobs (Ymir managed to get an apprenticeship as a tattoo artist, Krista as a kindergarten helper). I was still at home, with an okay relationship with my parents and being kept busy looking after my four younger siblings. They didn't know where I went during the march. I told them I was hanging out with friends. They smiled and told me to have fun. I hugged them both and said I would.

I loved my parents, no doubt about it. They had never done anything to make me worried about losing them. It was just my paranoia that made me think of the worst case scenario. I told this to myself every night before sleeping. It was always the same internal debate that chewed at my insides.

They never did anything to make me think it would be okay either.

So as soon as I graduated from high school and started college to become a social worker, I moved out of home and to the dorms.

Just to be safe.

* * *

It was the fifth year in a row of us marching that everything changed. As the years went by, the Pride March got bigger and better until it was a mini festival. There was music and dancing and stalls and a whole bunch of fun.

This year, all four of us decided to really dress up instead of rocking the classic we-are-teenagers-who-have-sneaked-out-of-home look. Ymir and Krista decked out in the brightest variety of colours in wacky clothing, Connie made a shirt with his Trans Pride flag printed on it, and I bought colourful bowtie to wear with my hardly worn suit (yes I know it's boring, I was still a little shy and I needed an excuse to wear it). We had heard that there was going to be face painting, and I decided that I could try that to brighten up my look when Ymir complained I looked to 'quiet'.

Krista drove us into the city centre. This year's march starts much later in the evening than usual, so it's an even bigger turnout since people have knocked off work. It was also much colder.

"Alright," Ymir starts as we pile out of the car. "First thing we gonna do is get Bodt's face done up coz he looking dull as fuck, then we are gonna get food, coz I am fuckin' _starving."_

I had tried not to roll my eyes, since that would guarantee a punch in the arm, and instead said: "I can go by myself to get my face done, and I can meet you wherever after it's done."

"Done deal," Connie had said. "Text me when you are ready, and I'll let you know where we are!"

We parted ways, them sniffing out the food stalls, and me wandering around until I found the face paint set up nearby the fountain on the outer edge of the park.

There were only ten or so people in line, but whoever was doing the painting must have been a pro, because the line moved quickly. No one lined up behind me. Maybe it was because everyone else had already been here.

As I waited, I had taken the opportunity to look around at the brightly hued festival. There was a small stage set up for a dj, who was playing some David Bowie. Lots of people were crowded there dancing around with different flags wrapped around their shoulders. I could see the bbq not too far away from the music, and the stalls full of arts and crafts taking up the centre of the park. People were handing out flyers, people were talking, laughing, patting the dressed up dogs. People having a good time and _being proud of themselves in public._

"Hey, Earth to Freckles."

I had startled and whipped around to face the face painter.

The guy smiled cheekily at me and had gestured at the stool next to him.

"Take a seat, man."

He was tall and lanky, but not quite as tall as me, with a dark undercut and a sharp expression. On his right cheek there was a painted flag that I hadn't recognised, it was pink at the top, purple in the middle and blue at the bottom. He also wore a knitted woollen sweater of the same colours, but with more dynamic patterns.

As he had taken a seat in front of me and dipped a paintbrush in water, I asked about the flag meaning.

"Oh, this means I am bisexual."

"That means you like boys and girls, yes?"

That cheeky smirk had coloured his face again. "Sure does," he's chirped. "But enough about me, what do you want painted?"

"Anything rainbow, please. My friend was complaining that I looked too 'quiet'."

He had laughed at that as he moved the paint palette to rest on his thigh. I liked the way he laughed. It was loud and brash and _open_ , he had reminded me of a masculine version of Ymir. I smiled shyly at him as I began to relax.

Changing brushes, he'd decided on a thin one and dipped it in the red paint first, then said: "You have a particular design or theme you want?"

"No, whatever you want to do will be great, thank you!"

He'd held my face to keep me still while he worked, drawing patterns on the right side of my face. He talked a lot while he worked when he wasn't pulling funny faces in concentration (it was hard to hold in the laughter), and I noticed he had a slight accent. He told me his name was Jean.

"I am Marco," I replied.

"Well Marco, I like your freckles. "'S almost a shame to cover 'em."

"'Almost'?"

"Well, when you see how awesome you look, I don't think you will complain." We had both laughed. Jean was easy to talk to. I didn't feel as awkward as usual.

Jean took a lot longer doing my face than he had with everyone else, and I guessed that it was because there was no one else waiting and he could take his time.

(He later told me it was because he was trying to impress me. And that he _really_ liked my suit.)

When he finished, Jean had pulled up a small mirror and showed me his work.

"Oh, _wow!"_ I had gasped. The entire right side of my face was made up of henna like patterns of all different colours flawlessly blending together. It had looked so detailed and amazing I couldn't believe he had just made it up on the spot. The amount of care he put into it astounded me (then again I am easily impressed). "Thank you," I had whispered.

He smiled gentler that time as he'd set down the mirror

I glanced at his woollen sweater again. The patterns on it looked similar to the ones he painted on my face.

"Did… did you knit your sweater?" I blurted out.

Jean had actually blushed then. He didn't seem the type to get embarrassed, but well I had only known him for fifteen minutes.

"Um, yeah, I did."

"…Do you take commissions?" I have a weakness for knitted wear, okay.

"Absolutely! Here take this, it's got all my details on it." Jean handed me a business card, and I had beamed at him.

"Thank you! I really like your sweater, and the face paint. It was nice to meet you, Jean!"

He'd gotten really flustered. "Ah, um thank you man. It was cool to meet you too."

He'd taken a photo of my face paint to put into his portfolio, then we'd shaken hands, and I left to find my friends. They were near the barbeque, wolfing down sausages in bread. Krista and Ymir gushed at my painted face. It was pretty impressive.

Just as the march was about to kick off, I'd glanced down at the business card I was still holding.

_Jean Kirschstein_

_Artist, Face Painter and Craftsman_

_Available for hire_

I couldn't wait to search up his website.

* * *

So this is where I am now. It's gone midnight, and I am sitting in front of my laptop scrolling through Jean's blog. This guy is incredible, his gallery is made up of different albums: face painting, drawings and paintings, sculpture, and knitted wear. All of which are stunning to look at. There's a lot of styles he uses, but there's evidence of that henna pattern in his abstract work.

In fact, traces of a range of cultural patterns can be found in his art, plenty from the Middle East, Europe, Asian and even Australian. All of his portraits and figure studies showcase a diverse variety of people as well.

And this makes me wonder where he is from.

Investigating his commission work, I decide that I really want a knitted sweater. While his artworks are incredible, this is something of his I can wear and since the weather is starting to turn to autumn now, it's also practical.

Scrolling up to the top of the page, I click on the commission link and it takes me to another tab. I select the Knitted Wear: Sweater option and then stare at the specifics box on what I want.

What do I want?

The sweater he wore comes to mind, how he wore his pride colours openly in such pretty patterns, and what he painted on my face and how much I absolutely love it (I still haven't washed it off).

So I try to explain that I want a sweater the same way he painted the right side of my face, also including my name so he knows what I'm talking about.

I also supply my email in the Contact box.

As I click Submit, a little message pops up saying:

_Thank you for your interest, I'll get back to you with a quote soon!_

* * *

The next day I wake up to a Saturday. With an essay on theory models due on Tuesday, I decide to dedicate this weekend to complete it. In my favourite pair of warm pyjamas with my soft comforter draped across my shoulders and a strong coffee in my favourite mug, I settle down at my desk and open up my laptop. I have already done a plan of the paper in dot points, and I've gathered all my references, so all I really need to do is just write the thing.

It starts to rain outside as I type, and it helps motivate me.

That and the excitement of hearing back from Jean soon.

I work to the sound of precipitation for a solid four hours before I realise I'm hungry and the effects of the caffeine had faded. Sitting from my slouch, I yawn loudly and stretch my back, impressed with the amount of work I knocked out of the way. I can afford to have a break.

A loud knock on my dorm door jumps me out of the peaceful atmosphere.

"Maaaarcooooo!" that's Connie. "Open uuuuuuup!"

Lucky I managed to get work done before now. It looks like I won't be continuing anytime soon.

My joints creak embarrassingly loud as I stand and let the bald ball of energy into my dorm. He's finally starting to get some muscle after I convinced him to start working out with Ymir at the gym. In fact, it looks (and smells) like he just returned from there, wearing shorts and a sweaty singlet and carrying a small sports bag.

"Hello," I say as he plonks down on my couch. "Did you have a nice workout?"

"Ya," he says, "But Ymir bailed out on me _again!_ What a bitch, always making up excuses to not come. Probably too busy coming with Krista."

"Connie that's gross." I pull a face t him, which he mimicks.

He laughs at me and digs out a water bottle from his bag. "Anyway, what have you been up to this morning?"

He's gonna laugh at me when I tell him. "Uh, well I've been working on an assignment…"

"You are a goddamn NERD, Marco Bodt."

"Thanks," I grumble as I sit on the chair next to the couch. "And you forgot to shower."

"Do I smell?" He leaps off the couch and tackles me, forcing me to be in close proximity of his BO.

"EW CONNIE GET OFF ME." We both laugh and I finally push him off me.

Giggling, Connie says, "Well I'm not the only one who forgot to shower."

"Huh, I do not smell!"

"You don't, but you have still got half your face covered in that rainbow paint," he smirks.

I touch my face. "I didn't want to wash it off," I pout. Connie rolls his eyes.

I manage to convince him to shower while I go about checking emails. My heart starts to race as I see one from Jean. All too quickly, I open it up.

**To: Marco**

**Thanks man for your interest! I can't believe how soon you commissioned me, but I really appreciate it.**

**I've listed the quote below, I have also shown how I calculate the cost just to show you I am not messing around (due to a previous experience that I never wish to repeat, I want to make sure you understand why I price the way I do).**

**If you decide to commission me, I prefer payment in person as I like to ensure that business arrangements go without any problems (again, this is due to the previous experience). However if you prefer, we can do this online. Let me know.**

**Once I've finished the sweater I'll let you know via email, and then we can arrange a time to meet up.**

**Again, thank you so much Marco! I look forward to hearing from you soon.**

**Jean Kirschstein**

I was, to be honest, expecting a generic email format that he would send to all his customers with just the alteration of the specific work he is commissioned. This seems like he typed it specifically for me. And while of course it's entirely professional, the tone he uses is also casual (and I am super curious as to what the experience was that he referred to, it must not have been pleasant).

I check out the quote, and the price seems completely reasonable. Definitely worth it. Ah I am so excited!

And I get to meet him in person again.

"Hey man, you've run out of shampoo." Connie bellows from the bathroom before stepping out, clothed in a cleaner looking hoodie and sweatpants.

"Connie I don't see why you would _need_ shampoo," I say as I swivel my desk chair around to face him. "You've got no hair."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. But you do, and you have no shampoo."

I shrug and face the computer. "I'll get some more today. Thanks for telling me."

"You aren't doing your assignment now, are you? Marco, take a break man, you need to relax-"

"Um," I start, feeling a little annoyed, "I am actually buying something. You should check out this guy's stuff, he is incredible!"

Connie wanders over and rests his head on my shoulder, reading the email. "Oh, some kind of knitter dude?"

"Yeah, but like he does a ton of different sort of art. He was the one doing the face paint last night." I grab the business card off the desk and pass it to him. "I am commissioning him to make me a sweater. Just gonna quickly reply to him now."

As Connie inspects the card, I quickly type out a reply telling Jean that I am happy with the price and I look forward to meeting him to pay and that I really look forward to the sweater.

As soon as I hit send, Connie pulls me into a headlock and drags me off my chair, demanding to go out for food.

* * *

Two weeks after I sent the email, my parents invite me over for dinner. I feel bad because I barely visit them, even if it's a half hour drive from the University dorms. I miss seeing my sisters and brother, it's just I feel so suppressed at home.

No, the better word would be uncertain. I don't know how to act, how much of me I should hide, if I should ever tell my parents.

I just don't know. I can't predict an outcome. It frays at my nerves.

But I decide to go anyway, while I still have the right to say that they love me.

Instead of driving to my parents' house, my sister Tash picks me up. She has only just gotten her licence and wants the excuse to drive everywhere. Tash picks me up around five-thirty Saturday afternoon.

"Marco! Hi!" she squeals as I jump into the passenger seat. I grin at her and lean in for a hug.

"Hello Tash!" I laugh as she squeezes me tightly. The dread I was feeling slowly eases. Tonight should be fine, as long as I don't say anything. I should be fine.

* * *

Driving with Tash is funny. She is really good at it for a beginner, when she isn't distracted. But she tends to forget to check her mirrors, much to the other drivers' annoyance. But we made it back alive and well, so I can't complain.

"You should come back here more often," she says as we make our way into the house. "Mum is cooking some really nice roast for tea! Usually we don't get anything as good as that."

"Maybe you should try cooking for us then, hmm?" Mum says slyly as she leans onto the hallway wall. She is dressed nicely for the time of day and she wears makeup even though she isn't going out anywhere, and that combined with what Tash just said makes me feel weird. Like I am some sort of guest visiting, not their son. Why is this some sort of formal event?

"Mum, hello."

She smiles at me and steps in for a hug. It feels stiff. "Hello, darling. It's nice to have you here. Dinner is almost ready, everyone else is in the lounge."

I guess that's where she wants me to be then. Tash follows Mum back into the kitchen to help prepare for tea, and I nervously walk to the lounge. Something feels a little off. Maybe it's just my paranoia. I can never tell the difference.

Dad is watching the news while sipping on some wine, while my youngest sibling Henry reads a picture book. I guess my other two sisters are helping Mum. Gender roles are really enforced in this family. I remember having to beg Mum to teach me to cook while convincing Dad I really did not fishing.

When Dad doesn't notice me, I clear my throat. Both he and Henry glance up at me then, the latter tossing aside his book and running at me to cling onto my leg.

"Marco!"

"Hey, little guy, what's up?" I laugh as I pat his head while once again feeling guilty. I really should visit more often.

"Son, how have you been?" Dad stand as well, moving over to clasp my shoulder.

"Good thank you."

"Studying hard?"

"Always," I say. It's not even a lie.

After Henry detaches himself from my leg, we all take a seat, Dad back in his chair, and me on the floor with Henry in my lap reading his book. Dad asks questions about my study and any new friends I made. In passing I had mentioned Krista, and instantly I noticed Dad's face sour.

Just as I am about to ask about that reaction, Mum calls from the kitchen informing us that dinner is ready.

The roast smells delicious, so much better than the Uni Diet™ (which mainly consists of 2 minute noodles and soup) that I have been eating. My family laughs at me as I wolf down the food.

There is silence for a little while until we all finish our food, and then Dad sighs, and for some reason I feel nervous.

He turns to Mum, and says: "Marco brought up Krista just before."

Mum stops eating and looks down at her plate. "I guess we should tell him." She says quietly. Then, louder, she says: "Kids, pack the dishes and do some more homework in the lounge room, please." All four of my siblings grumble in agreement as they comply.

I am very anxious at this point. Once they all leave, I ask, "Is everything okay?"

Mum still looks down at the table, and Dad sighs again.

"I got a call from Mr Reiss last night," he starts. "He confessed something to me that he had been holding in for a while, the poor old soul. Not that I can blame him, it would have been such a struggle to come to terms with."

"Is he okay?"

"He's dealing, I guess," Mum mutters.

"Um, what has this got to do with Krista?" I had spoken to her earlier today on the phone, and she seemed like her usual cheery self. If anything had happened, Ymir would have told me.

Dad clears his throat and looks dead at me. "Can you believe she is... a _lesbian_? I know she is your friend – and well your mother and I were hoping you would be more – but who would have thought? Such a pretty thing that turned out to be like _that-"_

Oh no.

"It must be a lot to take in, Marco," Mum says when I remain silent. "We weren't sure if you knew. Her poor parents were left with no choice but to make her leave home all those years ago, because she just kept being so insolent and wouldn't listen to their pleas."

"It's so horrible, that Krista would turn out such a way."

"How could you say that," I whisper. My heart is pounding. I think I am going to be sick.

Mum and Dad stare at me.

"It must be a lot to take in, Sweetie, but-"

"I already knew she was gay, Mum. I know, and I knew her parents kicked her out because they couldn't handle something that isn't really a problem but… Krista is a great friend of mine. As is her girlfriend. It really upsets me to hear you talking about her like that."

Mum shudders and bites her lip. Dad gapes at me.

"Do you hear yourself? It's not right Marco! Imagine how her family must feel!"

"Imagine how she feels!" I shout back. "Imagine having people who are supposed to love you unconditionally just completely disown you for something you have no control over. There is nothing wrong with her! Would you abandon me because I like boys-?"

I choke on air. I wasn't meant to say that.

"What," Mum whispers brokenly. "What did you say?"

I can fix this. I could just say I meant it hypothetically, that I didn't mean it. I was just trying to defend a friend.

"I am like her," I stare at my feet as I find myself uttering the words. "I am gay too. And that shouldn't be a problem." It is a problem, I know it is. How many times have I laid awake wishing I was _normal?_

I don't look at my parents as I throw myself to the fire. I don't want their expressions to be burned into my mind. I can't think, I can't breathe. I know this is bad.

This is bad. This is a mistake. I can't look at them.

I can hear them however.

Mum lets out a choked sob. Dad takes a sharp inhale. The air feels too thick to breathe in. I am suffocating.

The sound of a chair being scraped back suddenly pierces my ears, and I glance up in time to see Dad storm right up to me, absolutely furious. It's all I can do to remain silent and still as he grabs a fistful of my shirt, yanks me up, and punches me once in the centre of my face. The force makes me stumble backwards, but I remain standing as the hot sting burns my nose. It could be broken. Oh god it's bleeding. I cover my nose with my hand and look up at Dad. I am surprised I am not crying. Guess it is the shock.

"Get out of my house," He growls. "And don't you dare think of coming back."

I waste no time scurrying out of the kitchen and out the front door. I stumble a little going down the few steps from the veranda, but as soon as I hit solid ground, I run as fast as I am capable away from the place I could never quite call home.

When I realise I am out of breathe, I also realise that I am sobbing hysterically.

I shakily pull out my phone and dial Krista's number. My fingers are covered in blood. She answers almost immediately.

"Marco! My second favourite freckled gay, how are you doing?" she says cheerily, and I feel bad to ruin her mood.

"…K…Krista, ple-please can you-?"

I can't hold it in for much longer, and I start crying harder because _my dad just hit me really hard and I am so scared._

"Marco? Oh gosh, where are you, are you okay? Can you talk?"

"I-I am on the street where I used to live… and I… I cannot get back home. Pl-please I am so scared."

"Okay Sweetie I need you to breathe, can you do that? I am on my way, just keep walking towards home and I'll get you okay? I'll stay on the phone with you."

I can hear Ymir in the background, and the sound of a car running. They both keep talking to me as I walk and choke on tears until I recognise the car coming towards me. It pulls over and Ymir jumps out and pulls me into a hug.

"Shhhh, it's okay, we got you, it's okay." She gently tugs me towards the car, and climbs into the backseat with me. Krista starts driving immediately.

"Shit, Marco, what happened to your nose?" Ymir takes my face softly between her slender hands, and glares at the sore spot. "Who the fuck did this to you?"

"My parents… I told them. Dad didn't take it too well." I whisper, starting to calm down now that I am here, safe. Ymir tears up.

"Those assholes. Oh my god I am so _sorry._ Shit. Your nose might be broken. Fuck."

"Do we need a trip to the hospital?" Krista pipes up.

"No, please I just want to go home," I whimper. Ymir bite her lip as she continues to inspect the damage.

"Hmm, a doctor's check wouldn't hurt, but I guess neither would going straight to bed."

Bed sounds too good right now.

* * *

By the time we arrive at my dorm, I have calmed down completely. I just feel numb. Ymir slings a muscular arm around my shoulder as I unlock my door.

"Right," Krista says. "First thing we're gonna do is get you cleaned up, then Ymir will pick some crappy sit-com to watch on Netflix, okay?"

"Sounds great," I say.

Ymir hunts down my laptop and perches on the couch as Krista takes me to my small bathroom. She closes the lid to the toilet seat and gestures for me to sit. I do just that as she gets a face washer and runs it under the tap.

"Alright," she mutters and stands in between my legs. She rests a hand on my cheek and dabs at the bridge of my nose. When she hits a particularly tender area, I flinch. "Sorry, sorry." She hums, moving gentler. "Um, this face washer is gonna be ruined, but I'll buy you some more, okay?"

"You don't need to do that," I say. She just bites her lip and pulls away, tossing the rag into the sink.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I shake my head.

She sighs, and slings her arms around my shoulders and runs her fingers through my hair. She smell nice and is warm and soft and I almost break again. Almost.

Kissing my hair, she murmurs out another apology. Then she pulls back and heaves me to my feet. I don't let go of her hand as we walk back to the lounge and collapse as a heap on my couch. Ymir still hasn't found something to watch.

"I am hungry," she announces. "I'll shout some pizza if you get some delivered, Bodt." Despite have already eaten, I agree. It might get the taste of Mum's home cooking out of my mouth.

So I order us all pizza as the lesbians chat away about some upcoming music festival. The air feels still now, dulled. Must be tired.

Once I am done with the ordering, I check my email.

"Oh!" I burst out, causing Ymir to jump.

I have an email from Jean. I rush to open it.

"M-Marco? You okay?" Krista asks.

"Oh, yeah sorry. Um, it looks like the sweater commission I was telling you about it done. I, uh, I've been looking forward to it."

"Oh, oh yay! I can't wait to see it!"

The email was from a few hours ago.

**To: Marco**

**Hey man, hope you are doing well. I have finished your sweater, and was wondering if you were available tomorrow to meet somewhere so I can give it to you. I hope you like it, it was a lot of fun to do. Looking forward to hearing from you :)**

**Jean Kirschstein**

**From: Marco**

**I am so excited to see it, thank you so much. I have been looking forward to it. And yes, I am available tomorrow to meetup wherever you want to, I do not mind =) Thank you again!**

**Marco**

I smile for the first time since the incident, feeling a little more hopeful. I will survive this.

The pizzas arrive twenty minutes later, and Ymir chooses a British show called 'Black Books'. It's great, and we all laugh.

We are all okay.

* * *

The first thing I do when I wake up the next morning is check to see if Jean replied to me.

He had. He suggested a café as a meeting spot around midday that was a fifteen minute walk from the Uni campus. I replied back saying that I would be there.

I gather my things to have a shower, but I glance at myself in the mirror once in the bathroom. There is an angry red welt across my nose, and I now sport two black eyes. Don't I look wonderful for today? I bite my lip to stop the tears, and quickly shower. The hot stream of water stings my face a little, but I bear with it.

Today is a particularly cold day, perfect weather to be receiving a sweater from a cute boy.

I dress nicely in jeans and a long sleeved grey shirt, and a khaki jacket. It puts me in a nice mood. I am _pumped._

Midday seems to take forever to arrive. I can't eat anything because I am nervous, and I can't watch anything because I get too restless.

But finally, the time arrives for me to start walking, and I double check that I have the right amount of money to pay Jean. I lock up my dorm, and scurry out to the café.

I arrive just on 12. Jean isn't here yet, so I take a seat at a table and wait. It feels rude to order something without him here yet.

Its three minutes past when Jean himself bustles through the door holding a large paper bag. And I can't help but smile as I see him, all familiar and foreign at the same time. I already have a good vibe about this guy.

He looks around the café until he spots me, and I smile wider and wave him over. As he starts toward me, I can tell he starts to smile back, but then as he really looks at me, sees the black eyes, all expression drops from his face.

And I can't help feel guilty.

Jean rushes over and places the bag on the table as I stand up to greet him. However, before I can get a word out, he speaks up.

"Are you okay? What happened?" He worriedly looks me up and down, and wrings his hands.

"Um, it's nothing to worry about. Thank you for your concern though. I appreciate it."

He doesn't look convinced, but drops it. We both take a seat, and he asks: "Have you ordered anything yet?"

"No, I, uh, thought it would be better to wait until you got here before I did."

He smiles shyly at me, and I can see the pink tinting his cheeks. It is so cute.

"Um, well that's so polite of you, thanks." He rubs the back of his neck in a flustered manner. "But um to business! Let's get this show on the road, I have been looking forward to giving you this since forever."

I laugh at how keen he is as he pushes the bag towards me and attempts to wave over a waitress who looks too busy to see him. Taking the bag, I can feel him watching me nervously. To be completely honest, I feel nervous too. Well I know I am going to love it, but well I have a habit of getting over-emotional. It's embarrassing in front of people I barely know.

Yet I eagerly reach into the bag and touch the soft wool, and gently tug at it until it's out of the bag.

"Oh my god," I whisper as I hold up the sweater in front of me.

It's large and cosy looking, the right side completely made up of swirling rainbow colours of henna patterns. The rest of the sweater is a light grey, almost an icy pale blue.

To think he made this in just two weeks.

Jean starts to fidget as I stare silently at the sweater in awe. "Um, what do you think, man. You like it?"

"Oh Jean," I giggle sob. "It's perfect, thank you so much. I love it!"

Jean seems to let go of the breath he was hold and grins in relief as I shrug out of my jacket and pull on my new favourite sweater. "You're welcome, I am glad you like it."

I smooth it out and pull at the sleeves, they are a bit long, but I need the extra room anyway. It feels so soft and warm and _mine._

_My Pride Sweater._

I start to tear up. I can't be scared to wear my pride anymore.

"You're amazing, Jean."

Jean smiles wider yet softer at me.

"Are you crying?"

"No," I sob. "I mean, well yeah. Sorry, it's been an emotional 12 hours."

"If that's the case," he puts a hand on my shoulder and gently pushes me back into my seat. "Let's have a coffee and talk it over, yeah?"

"Um, okay… oh! I still have to pay you…"

* * *

Jean, I find, is an easy person to talk to. He orders a strong coffee, and I get a hot chocolate. And then we just chat.

He asks about the nose. I'm not quite strong enough to hide the tremor in my voice, but I do manage to keep my tear in check as I briefly explain the events last night. Jean looks horrified.

"But at least I know they know, and I know where they stand on these things, and where I stand with them."

"It's not right, Marco." He growls out his words.

"It could have been worse, I guess. I am lucky to walk away with just a broken nose."

" _It's not right._ Marco it could have gone a lot better as well. How horrible is it that we consider getting away with _just_ a broken nose as lucky?" He shakes his head angrily. "I am really pissed off at your parents. Do you have somewhere to live?"

I tell him that I moved out a few years ago, as soon as I possibly could. Which then the subject moved to me asking about Jean's parents and if he was out to them.

He tells me that it was just him and his mum who is a writer. His dad had died a few weeks before Jean was born. But his mum was lovely, and was totally accepting to Jean's sexuality. They lived in France for the first five years of Jean's life, until his Mum decided to go on a world trip that lasted fifteen years. They travelled all around Europe, sometimes settling down to live somewhere for a few years, before moving on again. His mum used their experiences in her novels that she gets published. They then moved on to Asia for a while, then to Australia, and then to Africa, and now here in America. Jean tells me that travelling around and being exposed to different cultures like that really helped him grow as an artist.

I told him that I went through his gallery on his website, and I noticed the influence of many countries. He smiled at that.

I asked if he and his mum were planning on leaving again anytime soon.

"I am not sure. Mum has started talking about maybe going up to Canada, but well I have finally set myself up here, so I probably won't go for a long while. Of course, there are friends scattered across planet that I would like to see, but I think this here might be my home. Haven't decided yet. What about you? Have you travelled anyway?"

"Ah no I haven't, but I would love to if someone were to come with me."

"I'll take you!" He blurts out. I feel myself blush as a smile creeps on my face.

"At least let me treat you to a dinner one time maybe."

"Uh-uh, if anything, _I_ will be the one treating _you,_ Freckles."

"Is that right," I murmur, leaning forward. His grin turns cheeky as he leans in towards me too.

"Yep. How does tonight sound?"

"A-are you being serious?" I can't quite believe that he would be interested in me so quickly! But well, I couldn't help but realise that yeah, Jean is someone I could really enjoy spending a lot of time with. He was quirky and honest and _genuine._

Jean slowly moves to put his hand on my shoulder once again.

"Yeah, Marco, I am. So how 'bout it?"

I bite my lip to stop my face splitting onto an embarrassing grin. "That sounds lovely, Jean. I would like that a lot."

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey! I really hope you enjoyed this! It was my first time writing m/m, and so I found it kinda difficult to express emotions and stuff, but hopefully its not too cringy to read! Please let me know what you thought! Thank you!


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